Temptation Island by Victoria Fox Page B

Bibi’s agent for a few moments, a flinty-eyed woman named Carrie Pearce, who had bobbed hair the colour of rat. From the way she spoke to her client it was clear she deemed Bibi incredibly lucky to have her representation. Stevie couldn’t work out why, since Bibi seemed to go for endless auditions and never secure any lasting work.
    ‘Stevie’s from England,’ said Bibi, in a way that managed to make it sound exotic.
    Carrie looked bored. ‘It must be quite something for you to be at a party of Linus Posen’s,’ she said unpleasantly. ‘Are you in the business?’
    Stevie shook her head. ‘I’m a sales assistant,’ she told her, correctly anticipating the admission would pass like a bad smell under Carrie’s nose and feeling satisfied when it did. Why should she be made to feel self-conscious? After much searching, she’d finally landed a part-time position at a clothes store on Broadway and was proud of every cent she earned.
    Carrie smiled tightly as Bibi blathered on, her eyes skipping across the room for a more interesting and important person to talk to. Stevie became aware of someone watching her and was compelled to turn round. A man with longish brown hair that curled under his ears was standing several feet away, his gaze unwavering even at having been found out. He raised his glass in her direction. He had a cute smile. She smiled back, regretted her haste and looked away.
    ‘Come on!’ sang Bibi, linking her arm once Carrie Pearce had departed. Stevie followed her friend through the crowd where, excruciatingly, they had to join a sort of queue to speak to Linus. She saw his spongy white head gleaming under the considerable lighting.
    When at last Bibi’s turn came to speak to the famous director, she introduced herself as though they were old friends, chatting away happily while Linus impassively listened, every so often chucking a soft salty devil-on-horseback between his fleshy lips and chewing ferociously. He ate with his mouth open, sweet prune pulping on his tongue, and stared blankly and brazenly at Bibi’s breasts for the duration. Stevie, hovering behind, felt disgusted.
    Men like Linus made her skin crawl. They believed their position gave them entitlement to any woman they felt like pursuing, confident there’d be plenty in reserve if that one said no. It didn’t mean anything. They could speak all they liked of love and the future, of leaving their wife, of making it real—and they didn’t mean a damn word. And before the object of their attentions could snap out of it, the spell cast—of sleepless nights and pining and lusting, of dreaming pointlessly of a happy ever after—she woke one day and realised she’d abandoned who she was, the morals and standards that she’d stood by, all for the sake of …
    ‘Bibi, are you going to introduce me to your … ravishing friend?’
    Stevie blinked. Linus was gawking straight at her. Bibi was bouncing up and down in the background and pointing frenetically: because she rarely drank, the champagne had gone straight to her head and her cheeks were flushed pink. Her eye make-up had smudged. ‘Of course!’ she squealed, ecstatic. ‘Stevie Speller, this is Linus Posen.’ She gaveStevie a little excited thumbs-up when Linus leaned in to take her hand.
    ‘The pleasure’s all mine,’ he said huskily, and she shivered as his lips met her skin.
    ‘Steve’s rooming with me,’ said Bibi proudly. There was a protracted silence during which Stevie could practically see a reel of corresponding images turning over in the director’s mind. ‘Isn’t she a doll?’
    Linus smirked, his eyes hooded. ‘I’ll say,’ he leered, absorbing Stevie’s classic beauty, her pale, oval face and the dark, almond-shaped eyes hidden behind her glasses. A good girl. Sensible. The kind of girl who’d tell you off for misbehaving. ‘She’s irresistible.’
    Discreetly Linus folded a card into Bibi’s hand, then into Stevie’s. For politeness’s sake,